DEAR Lillian, all I wished is won! I sit beneath Italia's sun, Where olive-orchards gleam and quiver Along the banks of Arno's river. Through laurel leaves, the dim green light Falls on my forehead as I write, And the sweet chimes of vesper, ringing, Blend with the contadina's singing. Rich is the soil with Fancy's gold; The stirring memories of old Rise thronging in my haunted vision, And wake my spirit's young ambition. But as the radiant sunsets close Above Val d'Arno's bowers of rose, My soul forgets the olden glory, And deems our love a dearer story. Thy words, in Memory's ear, outchime The music of the Tuscan rhyme; Thou standest here -- the gentle hearted -- Amid the shades of bards departed. I see before thee fade away Their garlands of immortal bay, And turn from Petrarch's passion glances To my own dearer heart-romances. Sad is the opal glow that fires The midnight of the cypress spires, And cold the scented wind that closes The heart of bright Etruscan roses. A single thought of thee effaced The fair Italian dream I chased; For the true clime of song and sun Lies in the heart which mine hath won! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NORTH WIND TO DUTIFUL BEAST MIDWAY BETWEEN DIAL & FOOT OF GARDEN CLOCK by MARIANNE MOORE BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE FOX; FOR ANN PEARN by EDITH SITWELL THE BLIND BOY by COLLEY CIBBER THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND by PHILIP FRENEAU WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY EPISTLE TO MRS. BLOUNT, WITH THE WORKS OF VOITURE by ALEXANDER POPE |